Memorial Day Redux
by Arraydesign
Summary: Post series: Josh, Donna and an anniversary neither of them really enjoy.


Title: **Memorial Day Redux**

Author: Array

Rating: PG-13 (adult themes)  
Disclaimer: They're Aaron's .. I guess… still.. except Josh's Mom  
Author's Notes: Santos Admin… fluffy stuff with a side of angst.

**Memorial Day Redux**

I'm the ultimate anniversary guy, but this isn't one of my favorites. Don't get me wrong; I'm grateful. I just hate that I have to be grateful, hate that I have to feel guilty. Okay I've come to terms with 'it's not really my fault'… thank you Stanley.. thank you Donna… thank you Donna's mother Maria. I've come to understand that I didn't plant the bomb, drive the car..

No. All I did was send her there…

But I'm over that.. really…mostly…

In my conscious mind I understand it. My unconscious mind .. well that's the issue really isn't it. The nights are appalling, but the day is full of gratitude.

It's really a bad night for both of us. It's our own private semiannual freak fest. One for Rosslyn, one for Gaza. Our sleep is haunted by dreams that we never speak of. That we really can't speak of. In August I dream of sirens and lights. Voices shriek around me and the images shift so quickly I can't really make them out. Sometimes my hands are full of blood, sometimes I see a whole scene from high above. I'm restless, and in my sleep I twitch and apparently I moan.

I actually find this time of year is worse. In May I watch helplessly as events unfold.. sometimes cars… sometimes snipers.. always people I love being wrenched away. Always Donna…..

I'm back watching TV in the bull pen, and I see the suburban flip up into the air and slam down on its roof. There are flames licking out and around. My heart seems to stop, but miraculously I reach my hand through the screen, wrench open the tiny door and a miniature lifeless Donna tumbles out onto the road. But she's so tiny I can't pick her up without crushing her and I watch helplessly as she bleeds onto the ground. I wake up gasping for breath, and meet Donna's wide open eyes. She's still breathing heavily from her own personal nightmare hell. We huddle together, not saying anything, just trying to calm ourselves. She wraps her arms around me and I stroke her hair and her back. Eventually my heart stops pounding, I can hear her panicked breathing even out, and we both sink back into an uneasy sleep.

Morning is better. Morning is always better, and we've made careful plans. Time to ourselves…time for each other…time to be grateful for small mercies… well, large mercies as well. The First Family is in Texas for some kind of traditional barbecue thing, which they asked us along to, but really we'd rather just stay here anyways. Sam's at the Whitehouse today, Lou's doing tomorrow, so she can scream at me when I screw up Meet the Press, and Bram's going to do Monday, so in theory it's just Donna and me and a weekend to ourselves… except for the interview… and a bunch of people coming over for dinner tomorrow, but today.. today is just for us.

"Who are you calling?" I ask as she picks up the phone.

"Your Mom. I want to tell her you're on Meet the Press tomorrow morning so she can assemble the gang. That way they can have coffee and make rude remarks about Mike Murphy together."

"Hi Judith, how's everything?"

I tune out the small talk. Either Donna, or my mother will repeat the conversation pretty well verbatim later on, so really I don't need to catch it all right now.

Donna's leaning up against the kitchen counter wearing a pair of my boxers and one of my undershirts and looking sexy as hell. There's something about that rumpled morning look, and her wearing my clothes that is so arousing. How come women look great in men's clothes? Sure doesn't work the other way around… well not for me…. Maybe it's not all women, maybe it's just Donna… maybe it's just her in my clothes…..

I wander out to the kitchen to trail my fingers down Donna's back and pour myself another cup of coffee. I grab the Times off the counter, fold it open to the crossword puzzle and corral a stool, so I can look like I'm doing something, and still be close enough to reach out and touch her while she's talking. Doing the crossword always reminds me of Leo. Half the time he'd start a meeting with some kind of "What's a seven letter word for shoplifting" question. And God help whoever was on the front desk of the Times when there was an error in the crossword.

"You want to talk?" Donna says, holding out the phone.

"Hey Mom. What's a six letter word for procrastinates?"

"J-O-S-H-U-A" she spells.

I'm erasing the J when Donna says "Delays". I mouth thank you at Donna before I say into the phone, "You think you're funny but really…"

"I have only one word for you Josh…" I close my eyes because I know what the word will be. "…Grandchild."

"I'm really hoping this is not the conversation you had with Donna."

Donna turns to look at me from the fridge where she's getting stuff out for breakfast, or brunch, or whatever you call it. Oh god. That sparked her interest.

My mother continues, and I'm not sure why she bothers because really I could have this dialogue alone. Oh no, wait… it's not a dialogue, it's a monologue, because really I don't get to say anything except "Uh huh" and "Well, not right now", and "You're not that old, Ma". I turn round and lean against the counter and just let her words wash over me.

"You're not getting any younger Josh. You don't want to be teaching a child to ride a bike when you're collecting old age security, or fighting off teenage suitors with a cane." Only my mother could come up with that image… and use the word suitor in a conversation.

"Mom, it's just not in the cards right now."

"I'm serious Josh."

"I know you are."

"If we had waited until we were ready, and it was convenient you wouldn't be here… and I'm willing to bet that's true of about eighty percent of your generation."

"Well, not right now."

Donna's looking at me with a puzzled face, like "What are you talking about"… so I scribble 'she wants us to come down there' on the edge of the newspaper, which seems to be plausible enough 'cause she goes back to slicing up the strawberries she bought at the market yesterday.

And then my mother goes for the jugular.

"I just want to see the next generation. I want to see our family continue." And the guilt washes over me like a wave. Because we're all that's left now, my mother and I... no Joanie… who loved kids… no Dad… who only bugged me about grandchildren by telling me about all the ones his buddies had….and it's got more punch today than usual because Donna and I came so close to losing each other… twice… and how else do you pay that gratitude forward?

"Okay mom. You've reached your goal for the morning. I'm feeling awful. Can we talk about something else?"

"I don't want you to feel awful…"

"None the less I do, so let's move on… Who did you slaughter at bridge on Wednesday?"

And she's off, with a blow by blow description of the battle. I reach across the counter and help myself to some strawberry slices. Donna smacks my hand, but it's just lightly. More like foreplay than punishment, and I don't want to look her in the eye while my mother is still talking in my ear, but I do anyways and it's a big mistake because all she does is look at me with those limpid blue eyes, moisten her lips and put a strawberry in her mouth.

Extremely.

Slowly.

I'm ready to hang up in midsentence so I can grab her and drag her across the counter and down onto the floor.

"Josh?" I hear my mother's voice.

"Uh huh?"

"So what do you think?"

"About what?"

"About me coming up there for the Fourth of July? Donna suggested I should."

Donna… who is alive and warm and right in front of me, currently pouring Grand Marnier over the strawberries.

"Sure Mom, that would be great."

As I reach out to snag a few more strawberries she moves it out of range. I can still reach her 'though, and I wind my fingers into her hair and try to reel her in towards me.

"What are your plans?"

"What?" My voice careens up an octave before I remember that my mother can't see any of this, and is talking about the fourth. "Oh, um… not really sure. I haven't looked at the schedule…. but there'll be fireworks for sure."

Donna turns to me with a knowing smile of double entendre. "There certainly will be…" she whispers. She disentangles my hand from her hair and holds it to her mouth, kissing the palm.

I pull her over close and wrap my arm around her, just to hold her warm breathing body next to mine, and she nuzzles into my neck.

"Okay, Mom... I have to go. We're about to have breakfast."

She laughs and says, "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"M-om…"

"I'll talk to you later Joshua. Enjoy your weekend. Give Donna my love." And she hangs up before I even say goodbye.

And Donna tastes like strawberries and oranges.

Later during the morning, after we remember that our bed is way more comfortable than the kitchen floor, I realize I'm dreaming in that half awake half asleep stage. I'm playing some game with a tiny girl that I know is Joanie. We're in the National Arboretum, or the Boston Public gardens… somewhere I know well, and she's hiding behind trees, and peeking out at me to say "Boo!" Then she laughs and runs to hide behind the next tree. But she's so little… just a baby really, and I never knew Joanie at that age. When I finally catch her and I bend down to pick her up she shrieks in glee while kicking me in the kneecap, and I jolt awake to the shrieks and laughter of kids playing out on the street.

Donna's still asleep. And she seems to be peaceful…Half under the covers… I can see the silver tracings of the scar on her leg. She's taking up most of the bed, as usual. And I am so grateful to be here.. with her.. Thankful to whatever god was watching,,, whatever hand reached in to save her.. save us both. I hover between leaning over to kiss her and just watching her sleep. Her hair fanned out across the sheet glistens in the strips of light coming through the window blinds, and just before I reach for her I find myself thinking that maybe a baby isn't such a farfetched idea after all.

The End


End file.
